


October 31st

by poppunkpadfoot (StormVandal)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: HPFT, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9931409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StormVandal/pseuds/poppunkpadfoot
Summary: James and Lily Potter didn't have to die.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for TreacleTart's Death Denial Challenge on hpff, but I didn't finish it on time. The challenge was to take a death that happened in HP canon and undo it. I signed up with James Potter.

Remus enters the flat as quietly as possible. He shuts the door slowly and nudges off his boots, pushing them up against the wall where they won’t be tripped over. As he hangs his cloak on its hook, he lets out a sigh, then takes a moment to roll his shoulders and neck, trying to shake off the persistent ache in his bones.

It’s been a long few days. Dumbledore had approached him on Tuesday with an urgent request for information - he’d heard rumours that a group of werewolves down near Plymouth, werewolves Remus had tentatively believed he’d converted, had turned to Voldemort after all. Remus had barely had time to collect a change of clothes and leave a note for Sirius explaining where he’d gone before he’d had to Apparate down there to locate the pack leader. He’d spent the days since then sleeping on the forest floor - hence the aches and pains - and trying to secure the pack’s loyalties.

The note he’d left for Sirius had been brief and vague. They always are these days. Sirius has grown increasingly distant with each passing month, pulling away from Remus and brushing him off is he tries to talk to him about it. Everything is fine, he insists, he’s just stressed, just tired, just worried - there’s a war going on, after all, you’d have to be mad to be acting all cheerful and normal and fine-

Remus is suspicious.

He hates himself for it. He knows what Sirius has been put through by Dark wizards - some mere strangers on the other side of Order battles, some much closer who’d hurt him much more than a well-placed curse ever could. It doesn’t make sense for Sirius to turn away from the light, not when he fought so hard to get here.

And yet… there is a rat inside the Order of the Phoenix, one who seems to be close to James and Lily Potter, and Sirius has been acting so _strange_ , and no matter how much part of him cannot believe, will not believe, that the man he loves could give in to darkness like that, another part of him keeps going back to his family and their… proclivities. Could it be that Sirius has darkness inside of him that he can’t control or escape?

No matter how much he doesn’t want to believe it, he can’t take any risks. So he leaves vague notes saying he’s gone on “Order business”, and answers questions with the same.

Lost in thought, Remus wanders out of the hallway into the dingy living room, heading for the kitchen. He’s almost reached the door when he’s stopped in his tracks by a hoarse voice from behind him.

“Hullo, Moony.”

Slowly, he turns around to see Sirius curled up in one of their ratty armchairs. Normally he would immediately try to look casual, but today he finds himself taken aback.

Sirius doesn’t look well. His hair is unwashed, strands of it hanging limply around his face while the rest is pulled up into a bedraggled ponytail. The dark purple circles under his eyes stand out prominently against his pale skin, stubble creates a shadow along his jaw, and his clothes hang off him slightly - when did he get so skinny? He’s not looking at Remus; instead he’s staring blankly at the wall.

“Hello, Sirius,” Remus replies as evenly as possible. “I was-“

“Where have you been?”

He tries not to be taken aback by the question; it’s not unexpected, after all. Perhaps it’s the tone of Sirius’ voice that makes Remus blink, pause. He sounds so much more hostile than usual.

“Order business.” Remus tries to keep his tone light, countering Sirius’ hostility, although he’s quite sure that it won’t work.

“Bull.”

“Sorry?”

“I said bull!” Sirius looks at him for the first time, a glare in place of his blank expression. “You say that every time you disappear. I’m in the Order too, you know! I don’t see why you can’t just tell me what it is!”

“Because Dumbledore -”

“ _Because Dumbledore said so_ ,” Sirius sneers. “You know what, Remus? _Fuck_ Dumbledore. What could he possibly have you doing that you can’t tell me about?”

Remus presses his lips together, shakes his head, and manages to suppress the urge to say _I can’t tell you anything when I’m not even sure I know who you are anymore_. “I’m going to make tea,” he says instead. “Do you want some?”

Sirius doesn’t even dignify that question with a response; he merely looks back at the wall. Sighing heavily, Remus walks away from him.

The kitchen is just as shabby as the rest of the flat. Some of the cabinets are missing their doors, giving Remus a clear view into their mostly-bare interiors; the tap never stops dripping, and the linoleum is peeling up at the edges. He never used to notice the flaws so much back when they first moved in; they were young and in love, and the flat was shabby but it was _theirs_. He’s not sure exactly when the dripping tap became louder than their morning conversations, but now it seems to be all he hears.

The kettle boils almost too quickly, and Remus busies himself with his tea. Teabag, water, steep. Milk. Sugar. Stir. It’s easy. It doesn’t require much thought.

“What are you really up to, Remus?”

Sirius’ voice from the doorway startles him; he jumps slightly, causing his tea to slop over the sides of his mug. Cursing under his breath, he grabs for a tea towel to mop up the spill.

“Where have you been going?” He can hear Sirius coming closer, taking slow, deliberate steps across the kitchen. “ _Who_ have you been _working for_?”

Frowning, Remus turns around, only to find Sirius’ wand pointed at his face.

He takes an instinctive step backwards, but finds himself pressed up against the counter. His hand goes for his wand automatically, his fingers scrabbling over the countertop - where did he put it down -

“Don’t,” Sirius snaps, his wand sparking as though to punctuate his command, and Remus freezes instantly. He looks Sirius up and down, notices the way his hands are shaking, the mingled terror and rage scrawled across his face, and he hears himself say, “Roll up your sleeves.”

Confusion takes over Sirius’ features, just for a moment. “What?”

“Roll up your bloody sleeves, Sirius!”

Sirius stares at him for a long moment - Remus can practically see the wheels turning in his mind. Seeming to make a decision, he reaches past Remus and snatches his wand up off the counter; then, clutching both wands in his left hand, he shoves the sleeves of his leather jacket up to his elbows.

No Mark. It suddenly occurs to him how absurd it is that he hadn’t known, hadn’t been sure whether Sirius’ arms were clean or not. When had he last seen Sirius without his shirt on? When had they last… 

Why hadn’t he checked before now?

“You think I’m a Death Eater.” Sirius looks stunned. “You- what the _fuck_ , Remus?” 

Remus’ heart is pounding in his chest. He feels rather like his feet have just been knocked out from under him. All these months of suspicion - all those sleepless nights - and now this.

“You still could be,” he manages. “You-Know-Who would have to be pretty thick to give his spy a Dark Mark-“

“I’m not a fucking Death Eater!” Sirius spits, his wand sparking a little. “You think I clawed my way out of my family’s Blood-Purity Dark-Magic bullshit just to go back?!”

“Well, if you’re not a Death Eater, why do you have your wand in my face?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, but his wand hand twitches, and Remus watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. The penny drops before he says anything, and Remus’ insides suddenly feel icy.

“You think I’m a Death Eater.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but the way Sirius’ eyes slide to Remus’ left arm kills any doubt he may have had.

“Is this just general paranoia, or is it the whole lycanthropy thing?” he asks lightly as he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.

“Oh, fuck you, Remus,” Sirius snaps, even as his eyes slide over Remus’s bare left arm. “You keep disappearing for days on end and telling me you can’t tell me where you’re going, don’t try to turn this back on me-”

Remus wants to respond, wants to tell him everything - he wants to scream at him, he wants to drag him into the bedroom, he wants… he wants a lot of things, but he feels like he’s choking on the lump in his throat and he doesn’t know how to even begin to start fixing this.

Well. Perhaps with the truth, finally.

“Werewolves,” he says hoarsely, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. “Dumbledore, he… he has me trying to recruit werewolves, bring them over to our side.” Shame keeps his eyes fixed on the peeling linoleum, do that he doesn’t have to see the shock (The horror? The disgust?) on Sirius’s face. “Dumbledore wanted me to keep it quiet, but… but more than that, I didn’t want anyone to know. I was - I am - ashamed-”

“That, and you thought I was a Death Eater.”

That makes Remus look up, because Sirius sounds… odd. The fire is gone from his voice; he sounds distracted, almost far away. Remus frowns and stands up straight, eyes roaming over Sirius’s face, which looks pinched, his brows drawn together over unfocused eyes, and, inexplicably, fear starts to settle in the pit of Remus’s stomach -

“Peter.” Sirius still sounds distant, but now there’s a distinct note of panic in his voice. “If you’re not a Death Eater - he’s been egging me on, saying how suspicious you’ve been acting, that maybe you couldn’t be trusted, but he - all this time - I made him _Secret Keeper_ -” And Remus gets it then, dread pouring over him as Sirius squeezes his eyes shut, fists his hands into his hair and chokes out, “ _James._ ”

**

It takes them under ten minutes to get to Peter’s hiding place, but it feels much longer. They run from the Apparition point to Peter’s door without saying a single word to each other, and when they arrive, Sirius begins pounding on the door before Remus can so much as suggest that they come up with a plan first.

“Peter!” Sirius looks like he might start trying to break down the door any second. “Open up!”

Remus catches his arm before he can start pounding again. “Sirius, wait, he might not answer the door if you-”

He’s cut off, however, by the sound of several locks clicking - and then the door slowly opens.

Peter is smiling, but Remus instantly notices the sweat on his brow, the way his eyes are darting around - and his wand, clutched tightly in his shaking hand.

“S-Sirius, Remus, what a pleasant-”

“You fucking bastard,” Sirius growls, and then he’s launching himself on top of Peter - a jet of red light misses Remus’s head by mere centimeters before Sirius wrenches Peter’s wand out of his hand, and the two of them go crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Remus waits longer than he probably should have to pull Sirius off of Peter - although, to be honest, he probably would have waited longer if he weren’t afraid that Sirius would literally kill Peter with his bare hands before they could get any sort of confession or information out of him. As it is, Peter’s gasping for breath by the time Remus has pried Sirius off of him, and his hands instantly go to his throat, massaging where Sirius’s hands had been.

“ _What-_ ”

“Don’t play dumb, Peter,” says Remus calmly, as Sirius looks too enraged to form sentences. “We know you’re the spy.”

Peter tries for a shocked expression, but he doesn’t pull it off. The way his eyes widen and his pupils start darting back and forth betrays him even as he stammers, “R-Remus, I don’t know what you-”

“It was clever of you, the way you got Sirius and I to doubt each other,” Remus barrels on, still sounding, somehow, much calmer than he feels. “Looks like we all underestimated you.”

“We overestimated him,” Sirius interrupts, still breathing heavily. “We trusted him with James’s _life_ , and Lily’s and Harry’s, and he went and fucking sold them out.”

Peter now looks plainly terrified - his face is pale and sweaty, his eyes darting frantically between Sirius, his own wand still clutched in Sirius’s hand, and the door - but he’s clearly still trying for shocked and confused. “I don’t - know what you mean - I would never-”

Before Remus can grab him, Sirius lunges at Peter again; this time, though, he yanks Peter’s left sleeve up to his elbow.

Remus had _known_ , of course, had been bracing himself on the way over - but nothing, nothing could have really prepared him for the sight of the Dark Mark on Peter’s forearm. Never before has the Mark looked so hideous or made Remus feel quite so ill. Sirius gets off Peter independently this time, though his face is murderous; and Peter just lies there, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

“I had no choice,” he wheezes out.

“Don’t give us that rubbish, Pettigrew,” Sirius snaps. “Just tell us the situation. How long do we have to get James and Lily out of there?”

Peter is silent for a few long, long moments. His eyes are open, now, and still flicking back and forth between Sirius and the door. He only speaks when Sirius raises his wand and opens his mouth.

“Y-y-you might be too late,” he gasps. “I-I’m not sure, but I think - I think the plan was to do it tonight.”

Remus’s stomach lurches. _Tonight?_ The very fucking night he and Sirius had finally figured it all out… What if they were too late - why hadn’t they just fucking talked to each other sooner -

“One of us needs to stay here and keep an eye on him,” Sirius says, already halfway to the fireplace, and Remus nods, and the next minute he’s alone with his his thoughts and this stranger who he used to count as family.

**

Lily’s just taken Harry upstairs, and James is lying on the couch, when Sirius tumbles gracelessly out of the fireplace, spilling ash across the carpet. 

James shoots up into a sitting position. “Sirius! What the hell-”

“Peter,” Sirius gasps out, scrambling to his feet. “James, he was the spy.”

James, halfway through getting off the couch, collapses back onto it, blinking owlishly. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but words don’t seem to want to come out.

 _Peter?_ There’s no way, it’s not possible - but why would Sirius lie? Unless he’s mistaken - or it’s a trap -

No. No, not that. It doesn’t matter what he’s been told the possibilities are, Sirius would never betray him. But Peter…?

“What-”

“James, listen to me.” The absolute panic in Sirius’s voice puts the final nail in the coffin of the thought that he could be lying; and just then, he yanks both sleeves up to his elbows and holds his arms - both bare - up in a gesture of surrender. “He’s given you up, you have to get out of here right now.”

“Right - yes - okay - um,” James stammers out. “Let me go get Lily and - and grab some things.”

“There’s no time! I told you, Peter sold you out. You-Know-Who is coming tonight, he could be at the end of the lane for all we know.”

James must look as stunned as he feels, because Sirius strides over and grabs him by the shoulders. He’s pale, but determination is etched into every line of his face. “Listen to me. Remus is waiting for you at Peter’s. You go, I’ll go get Lily-”

“Sirius? What’s going on?”

Both men turn to see Lily standing in the doorway, frowning in confusion. “I heard you from upstairs, yelling something about You-Know-Who… is everything alright, has something happened?”

“Everything’s quite far from alright, actually,” Sirius says, a little more snappily than intended. The room feels like it’s shrinking around him. They don’t have _time_ for this. Lily is frowning more deeply now; she walks over to James, glancing between him and Sirius searchingly, looking _far_ more relaxed than she should, and Sirius honestly want to scream at them both to just _fucking go already_ but he knows that’ll just piss Lily off and won’t help the situation.

“Lily,” he says as calmly as possible, “There isn’t time to explain properly but you and James need to get the fuck out. James, I’ll go get Harry, okay, just get her out of here.”

He’s halfway across the room before either of them can argue. James heads for the fireplace, but before he can do more than throw a pinch of floo powder into the grate, Lily grabs his arm.

“Is it You-Know-Who?” she whispers, her eyes reflecting the same terror that he’s sure she must see in his. “Is he coming? Here?”

James swallows, hard. “Yes,” he confirms hoarsely.

“Harry-”

“Sirius’s got him. Lily, we have to go, come on.”

As soon as they step into the fireplace, the door crashes off its hinges behind them-

**

Sirius takes the stairs two at a time, acutely aware of just how narrow his window might be. The fireplace downstairs is the only one in the house, and he can’t Apparate out; he has to get Harry and get back downstairs as fast as he possibly can.

Harry is awake when Sirius rushes into his nursery, standing by gripping the bars of his crib. His face lights up as soon as he realizes who’s standing in front of him. He squeals in delight, bouncing up and down a little, and Sirius can’t help but smile despite the gravity of the situation.

“Hey kiddo,” he says, thanking Merlin that he somehow sounds so unflustered, because the last thing he needs right now is for Harry to get upset and start crying. “Wanna come see your mum and dad? Uncle Padfoot’s gonna take you to them, okay? C’mon.” And oh fuck, his heart is aching in his chest at the familiar way that Harry reaches out when Sirius leans in to pick him up, pats his face, tugs on his hair, oh fuck he needs to get him out of here right now-

He hasn’t even made it to the nursery door when there’s a huge crash downstairs.

He freezes, listening hard. There’s no further commotion downstairs, no yelling or crashing, which he thinks - he hopes - means james and Lily got away; but then his straining ears catch soft footsteps on the stairs, and ice-cold dread runs down his spine, twists itself around his heart, settles into his stomach.

They’re trapped.

Harry is oblivious, one of his tiny hands curled into a lock of Sirius’s hair as he makes happy cooing sounds. Determination overtakes the fear within seconds. He is not going to let any harm come to James’s child, to his godson. Holding Harry a little tighter, he starts running through the possibilities. He could barricade the door, throw up some protection spells - but they would slow Voldemort down by mere minutes, at best, and he and Harry would still be trapped. They could hide, or he could at least hide Harry… he looks around wildly for a second, but there is nowhere to hide, and the footsteps are right outside the door now. He is out of time.

**

“James, Lily,” Remus says, cutting across the tirade that Lily had begun as soon as she’d laid eyes on Peter; they look over at him, fury etched on both of their faces even as James holds Lily’s wand arm back. “Where the hell is Sirius?”

**

The house is quiet, except for the faint sound of a baby crying.

That’s… a good sign, Remus supposes. Unless Voldemort is merely taking his time, toying with his prey… His stomach turns over at the thought, and he has to pause for a moment to stop himself throwing up all over James’s mother’s rug.

“Stay here,” he’d told James and Lily. “Keep your wands on Peter. I’ve already spoken to Dumbledore, he should be on his way. I’ll go.”

He hadn’t wanted them to be the ones to find their son’s body. But Harry is alive, by the sounds of it, and he can’t help but feel hope bubble up inside him. Maybe… maybe Sirius had managed to fight Voldemort off, somehow? It sounds beyond impossible, and yet…

He creeps up the stairs, wand at the ready, coughing in the dust-filled air. There must have been some kind of battle, maybe a wall or two had caved in. Maybe Sirius had got the drop on him _but if Sirius is okay then why didn’t he come to Peter’s_ , maybe he’s hurt, maybe he and Harry are trapped, if Harry’s okay then Sirius must be too-

The nursery door is hanging off it’s hinges. Remus pushes it cautiously aside, squinting; the air in here is thick with dust, and it looks like the back wall’s been blown out, there’s rubble all over the place and -

He barely registers the pain when his knees hit the floor. It’s - this is not happening, this can’t be happening, it’s the world’s cruelest prank or - or he’s hallucinating. Sirius’s eyes are wide and empty, staring, unblinking, up at the ceiling, _this isn’t happening_ but his hand reaches out without him wanting it to, no, he doesn’t want to check - still warm - but there’s no pulse, he cannot feel Sirius’s heartbeat under his hand, and as his shaking fingers move to Sirius’s neck, to his wrist, he hears his own voice in his ears, chanting, pleading, “No, no, Sirius, please, no, I’m sorry, please, Padfoot, I’m so sorry”, a helpless, useless prayer.

He’s overtaken by the mad urge to just dig his hands into Sirius’s shirt and shake him until he cracks, until he closes his eyes and start laughing, Remus can almost hear his laughter, _that’s not funny, Sirius, you’re such an asshole, you were always such a bloody asshole_. He can’t breathe, he’s choking on the air he’s trying to pull into his lungs. _Always such a drama queen. Get up, get up, you can’t_ do _this, you can’t just leave me_. Anger coils itself into his guts, and then, then it hits him: that Sirius is… that Sirius is gone.

The anger vanishes as suddenly as it had come; his hands, clutching desperately at Sirius’s shoulders, go limp. And, as if from very far away, a wail reaches his ears.

_Harry._

Somehow, he manages to let go of Sirius, stagger to his feet, and walk over to the crib. Despite the numbness that’s settling over his body, he feels relief; Harry’s forehead is bleeding, there looks to be an oddly-shaped cut there, but he seems to be otherwise unharmed. He’s alive. 

It hits Remus that he needs to get the hell out of here; he doesn’t understand what’s happened, he doesn’t know where Voldemort is, and for all he knows he’ll be back any second. But… he can’t just leave Sirius here, he can’t just leave him lying there like that, with his eyes open and unseeing. Harry’s squirming in his arms, crying in his ear, he can’t think, he can’t concentrate; he certainly can’t carry Harry and - and Sirius’s body at the same time. He supposes he could levitate him, but the grotesque mental image that follows that idea makes him almost throw up again. He can’t. He has no choice.

Every part of him screaming in protest, he steps over Sirius’s body and heads for the door.

Downstairs, the clock strikes midnight.


End file.
